Kratos was no less in stature than his father, a twin in shadow albeit just wildly colored with his white flesh and myriad of black spots – a gift from his warrior queen mother. Nevertheless, there is no mistaking him as anything other than a son of Vanquish as he makes his way over the dunes, dusk casting a scarlet glow like blood dripping down gold as it fell across the sands. In the days since the war Kratos had busied himself with remembering all of the too-far oasis’ and hollowed caverns deep in the red rocks he had known so well as a child.
He is passing the great oak when a call reaches out to him, a thin veil of lightning sheathing down his body as he edges himself into a long-legged stride. He had yet to make the visit to his twin Kreios, as the Nightwalker had ordered, instead he seemed to always find more compelling prospects to entertain. Like his little electric lion he had been lusting in the shadows with, like the strange girl who calls out now.
She smelled of his father but carried none of his visible traits, so when the dragon’s son comes alongside her and sees she is no more than a child he knows this must be the girl the king had spoke of. His little smoke girl, Vanquish had called her and Kratos struggled to keep an incredulous scowl from twisting his lips. He had never known his father to be particularly empathetic for those that were not of his own bloodline, but nonetheless he does not glower now either – he would heed his father’s biddings, well, at least this one. “Hello, girl,” he says, a wolf’s smile snaking over his black lips, “and what might your name be?” He asks, white-fire crackling in his mouth as he dips his head to the crystalline waters, lightning seeps past his throat and ripples across the surface of the pool as he drinks.
Kratos
the electric titan of vanquish and lyric